Pawn Shops and Peanut Butter
by RaisingAmara
Summary: When Sam and Dean land in a town too small to even hustle up an honest game of pool, a misunderstanding between brothers forces one to make a sacrifice he's not ready to face. How will Dean make it up to his brother for forcing him into a cruel corner?
1. Chapter 1

I froze in place when I heard a familiar voice – Sam's voice - ask the pawn shop owner a question.

"What can you give me for this?"

An impressed whistle followed, and I racked my brain for what Sammy could possibly own that would elicit that sort of response from the jaded man behind the counter. If it was one of our weapons, I was already planning how I'd kick his lanky ass. He might be taller, but I was sneakier.

"It's a nice one." I heard the guy say, as I struggled to remain hidden behind the dusty rack loaded with old electronics. I didn't want Sam to see me – wasn't ready to stop being pissed off at him just yet. And I definitely wasn't in the mood to make small talk with the brother who'd shot me full of rock salt and tried to blow my head off just days earlier. Under the evil influence or not, that shit hurt.

"The diamonds are real," I heard Sam say and followed it up with a mental What-the-Hell? Since when did he own anything that sported real diamonds? My first thought was that he had stolen something strictly with the intention of pawning it for cash, but then I remembered that this was Sam I was considering – Sam, who was just as likely to strangle a puppy as he was to steal diamonds off an innocent bystander. The kid wasn't me, after all.

"Well, with the inscription, it's going to be worth a little less you know."

"I know."

"I can give you $350."

Silence.

"I paid almost $1200 for it."

"I believe you." The heartless bastard behind the counter said, "But the inscription makes it almost impossible to sell. I can only offer you the value of melting down the gold and harvesting the diamonds."

Sam tried to bargain, "$500," he said.

I could almost hear the store owner debating just how far he could push Sam, and even though I was still pissed at my brother, I wanted to throttle the guy when he came back with his final offer.

"$375 is the best I can do. Take it or leave it." It was a crappy offer, and everyone in the store knew it.

Sam was quiet for what seemed like an eternity before relenting. "Fine." He said.

I heard some rustling that sounded like the guy was pulling something out from under the counter. Apparently, it was a magnifying glass. "Let me get a better look at what's written on." He said and was met with stony silence.

"You Sam?" I heard the guy ask.

"Yes." My brother answered quietly.

I heard the guy pop open the register and begin counting out money. "So I guess Jess wasn't really forever, hunh?" He said jokingly and laughed, and I winced like I'd just taken a punch to the gut. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow the lump in my throat because suddenly I had an idea what Sam was pawning. It didn't help that my brother suddenly let out a strangled whimper that he quickly smothered.

"Oh hey now," I heard the guy say. "I didn't mean anything by that. Dude, don't cry."

My hands unconsciously balled up into fists, and it was all I could do not to rush the counter and pop the guy in his ugly face. Oh, I was going to kill this asshole once Sammy was safely out of his crummy shack.

"Just give me the money."

"You're sure about this?"

Silence.

"Well, okay then. Here you go. Sorry things didn't work out the way you planned."

I heard Sam turn away from the counter and smack the door open so hard the glass vibrated. "Bite me," he tossed over his shoulder as he made his exit.

As soon as I heard the door bang shut behind him, I moved up to the counter to see what my little brother had left behind in this piss hole of a pawnshop in the middle of fucked-up nowhere. I caught a glimpse of an engagement ring still in the fancy, velvet-lined box just before the asshole behind the counter shoved it under the glass.

"How much for the ring?" I barked.

The man played coy. "Oh, this ring? Heard all that, did you? That poor schmuck."

I decided to play along to see just how ugly this would get.

"Yeah, I heard." I said, and laughed. "Guess the wedding is off."

"Kid said he paid $1200, but if that's true, he got a bargain." Asshat gloated. "This baby is easily worth a cool two grand. I know quality when I see it."

I glared. "And yet you gave him $375."

He grinned. "I did, didn't I?" This might be the best deal I ever made. That inscription will buff right off with the right tools."

I was fuming, but didn't want to reveal my hand.

"You interested?" Asshat asked.

"Might be. Can I see it?"

"Yep." He brought the ring and the case back up to the counter and handed me the magnifying glass.

I pulled the ring out and held the glass up to the inside of the band. Written in a dainty, flowery script was a single phrase, "Sam & Jess Forever." I felt sick, and all I could think about was all the shitty things I'd said and done to Sam over the past week. I put the ring back in the box and toyed with the notion of trying to buy it back, but I wasn't sure Sam really wanted it back. It would probably be better to make sure he got what the ring was worth.

"So that inscription will come right off, you say?"

Asshat nodded smugly. "Sure will. I can take it off for you myself. No charge."

"So how much?"

"I can let it go for … $1600." He said, and sealed his fate.

I smiled and reached back like I was taking out my wallet, and I saw the little weasel's eyes light up with greed. His expression changed pretty quickly though when I brought out my .45 and laid it on the counter instead.

He backed away a bit, but not before having the presence of mind to grab the ring. "Hey, what gives?"

"What gives is this." I leaned in and gave him my stone-cold killer look. "Sam is my little brother. Jessica is dead. And you're going to pay me what this ring is actually worth – minus what you've already given him of course. And in return, this won't turn out to be the worst day of your life. Whaddaya say?" And then I smiled.

"You're crazy."

I picked up the gun and winked. "Well, that's been said before." I informed him, releasing the safety.

"H-how much do you want?" He stammered.

I made a show of checking to see if the .45 was loaded. "Oh, I can let this go for … say … $925. That's the $1,200 Sam paid minus the $375 you gave him. It's a fair deal. You keep the ring, buff off the inscription, and make a cool $400 profit off Sam's misery. Now that's a much better deal than I give most people who try to take advantage of my baby brother. I'd take it if I were you."

For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, and I grinned coldly, actually hoping he would so I could put some serious hurt on the man. But in the end, he relented and handed over the cash instead. "I could call the cops, you know." He threatened.

I nodded, "You could." I agreed. "And I could reveal that little illegal weapons trade you got going on here."

He gulped. The asshole actually gulped.

"You ever think of replacing that curtain with a door that locks? Those aren't exactly legal now, are they?"

"Just go." He snarled.

"Certainly. It was nice doing business with you." I said. "I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you planned." I turned toward the door.

"Oh, and bite me too." I said as I made my exit as dramatic as possible, glass door all but breaking in my wake.


	2. Chapter 2

Pawn Shops and Peanut Butter, Chapter 2

I stood just outside the shop looking this way and that, hoping to catch a clue as to where Sam went. It didn't take but a minute to spot him, sitting on a park bench across the street from the tiny market. He had a bag beside him and was eating peanut butter right out of the jar with his fingers like he had no idea where his next meal was coming from.

Peanut butter.

Sam hated peanut butter. Peanut butter had been a staple of our cupboards growing up, and we'd both sworn never to touch the stuff again once we got out on our own. Sam had almost $400 dollars in his pocket, why the hell was he eating peanut butter right out of the jar like he was freaking starving?

I suddenly felt sick. I think I knew.

I slipped my cell phone from my pocket and brought up all the texts Sam had sent me over the past three days:

8:05 am: SAM: Breakfast?

8: 06 am: ME: Already ate.

11:30 am: SAM: Wanna grab lunch?

11:36 am: ME: Already ate, sorry.

5:40 pm: SAM: You grab dinner yet?

5:48 pm: ME: Just had pizza, thanks.

It had gone on for two solid days. Sam wanting to get together to eat, and me avoiding him. On the third day, I'd heard nothing at all from him. That was yesterday. Had Sam been broke all this time and just too proud to tell me because I was being such a dick?

Three days ago I had told Sam I was sick of looking at his whiny face. I didn't mean it. It was just that he was all up in my head and relentless – trying to apologize and forcing me to forgive him. I just wanted some time to work things out, but Sammy, being Sammy, wanted to TALK.

The minute the hateful words were out, I'd wanted them back. Sam had turned positively green - like I'd kicked him in the groin, and I'd wanted a redo right then and there, but it was already too late. Sam had quietly picked up his backpack and offered to go get a room of his own so I could have some space. I'd told him to knock himself out, and that was the last I'd seen of him until today. I realized he'd probably spent the last of his cash on the room. He'd texted me just minutes later to give me his room number, but I'd never replied.

It never occurred to me that he might be broke. Money hadn't been a problem for us in years. If one of us had a few dollars then we both benefitted. There was never "This is my money, and that's yours." I'd been taking care of Sam all my life, finding odd jobs and hustling pool to pay our way. As he got older, Sam started chipping in too – he'd never be as good as me at hustling pool, but that's only because he wasn't cold enough. Still, he did damned good. Unfortunately, this current backwater we were staying in didn't have a single bar or even a truck stop that featured a pool table. If Sam needed money, there was no way to get it here – at least not quickly – short of stealing. And Sam would die of starvation first.

Man, I felt like a dick. Standing there watching Sam gorge himself on the one food he probably hated most in the world like it was prime rib made me want to sink right through the stained pavement.

I crossed the street and walked over to where Sam sat on the bench. He was so intent on devouring that crappy, store-brand peanut butter that it took him a few seconds to even realize I was there. Once I sat down, a guilty look swept across his face, and he hastily screwed the lid back on the jar and stowed it in the bag.

"What the hell, Sam?" I asked. "It's not even real peanut butter. It's that store brand shit that you hate."

He just shrugged. "It's okay."

I sighed. "No, it's pretty damn far from okay, Sam." I ran my fingers through my hair and looked him in the eye.

"You're really hungry, aren't you?"

His bitch face was working up, I could see it. "I'm fine, Dean."

"No, you're not, and I'm a total dick."

"Look, you wanted space. I'm giving you space." He said tiredly.

"I know I've been an ass. I just didn't realize it til now."

"You're not being an ass, Dean. Well, at least not right now." He let me off the hook even though I didn't deserve it. "… not to me. It's cool." He shoved both hands in his pockets and looked off down the street.

"Sammy …"

"Dean …" He paused to clear his throat, "What happened happened. There's no way I can take it back. God, I'd give anything to take it back, but I did what I did. I understand why you don't want to be around me. Hell, I don't want to be around me." He turned those soulful eyes on me. "You know when you said you were sick of looking at my face? Well, you're not the only one."

"That's bullshit Sam, and you know it."

He just shook his head and looked away.

"It's not bullshit Dean. If your gun would have had a bullet in it, you wouldn't be sitting here right now, bitching at me about a damn jar of cheap peanut butter. You'd be dead. Because of me." His voice cracked. "How am I supposed to live with that?"

"Sammy, it wasn't you. I know it wasn't you. I was just pissed that I walked right into a bad situation and let that demented doc get the drop on me. You were just the nearest target."

"Yeah, well, he got the drop on me too, Dean. And he almost killed you and used me to do it."

I sat silent for a minute, trying to think of what I could possibly say to make this better. I brought my hand out of my pocket and held the wad of cash out to my brother.

Moment of truth.

Sammy would know I'd been eavesdropping on a painful conversation, but there was no other way to explain why I suddenly had almost a thousand dollars for him. "This is yours, by the way."

Sam looked at my hand, and his eyes grew wide. "What the hell, Dean? Where'd you get all that cash?"

I cleared my throat, "It's not mine, Sam. It's yours – for the ring."

He just stared at me.

"Look, I was in the shop, okay? I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard the shitty deal the little bitch made you, and I decided he could benefit from lesson in business management."

Sam's eye grew wide. "Dean, what did you do?"

"Relax, Sam. He's fine. We just made a little bargain is all."

"What kind of bargain?" He still hadn't taken the money.

I dropped my hand and sighed. "He handed over what he rightfully owed you, and I agreed not to call the cops on his little illegal arms trade. His back room is quite the arsenal, you know. And none of it's legal."

I saw a hint of a smile cross my brother's face then, and that alone assuaged at least a modicum of my guilt over starving him out over the past three days. "How'd you talk him into it?" He said, taking the money and flipping through it.

"Oh … I was persuasive." I hedged.

Sam just smiled and shook his head. "What is this, a thousand bucks?"

"$925 to be exact. Precisely what he owed you minus what he'd already paid. You know, he was going to sell it back to me for $1,600."

Sam started, "What! That's more than it's even worth."

"No, he said it was worth two grand, and then he bragged about what a great deal he'd made. Honestly Sam, if I could have killed him without bringing crap down on our heads, I wouldn't have batted an eye. They'd trace that ring easy though."

Sam blinked rapidly, and I knew he was trying to stave off the tears that had suddenly formed.

"Honestly Sam, he can still make a solid $400 off his 'investment,' so no feeling guilty, alright? You win. He lives. We're all good. Take the money and run."

Sam stuffed the windfall in his pocket with a small, "Thanks." And looked away. He sniffed a few times, and I realized he was trying to get his emotions in check.

I sat silently contemplating my next words. "I'm so sorry, Sammy."

He looked back. "For what?"

"I … didn't realize you and Jessica … I had no idea you were … so serious, I guess."

The rapid blinking resumed. "Yeah, well, it doesn't matter now."

"No, I guess not." I said quietly, then continued, "You know what matters now?"

Sam looked at me questioningly."

"Finding some of that girly food that you love so much, Samantha." I smacked him on the side of his shaggy head.

"Knock it off, jerk."

"Make me, bitch." I said, standing and dropping the bag with the cheap peanut butter into the trash can.

We picked a diner a few blocks away. It was still early enough for the late breakfast special so I ordered my usual eggs, sausage and flapjacks. Sam ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, a bowl of soup, a baked potato and coffee. I tried not to gape at my usually finicky brother as he ordered half the menu and then proceeded to wolf it all down like it was his last meal. It would have been hilarious if it wasn't so tragic. What I really wanted to do was cry like a big, fat baby, but in the end, I decided to forego the chick moment and razz him instead.

"Damn, Sam. Save something for somebody else, why don't you?"

"Screw you. I'm hungry."

I snorted into my pancake and let him have his moment of happiness, just glad to see him finally eating. Sam was never one to eat much, and I'd spent half my life trying to coax the little bitch into remembering to put food into his gullet. Until this week, anyway. This week, I'd failed big time. Damn, I was a shit.

"I think it's time to blow this town." I leaned back and tried to catch the eye of the waitress to order a cup of coffee.

"Amen to that." Sam agreed, around a massive bite of loaded potato. "Next place we land, let's make sure it has at least one pool table."

"Or a heartless pawn shop owner we can terrorize."

And we laughed and laughed.


End file.
